


Mike Townsend (Hears the Shadows' (booty) Call)

by InfernumEquinomin



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Biting, Does it count if its all the same entity but multiple iterations?, Gangbang, Impact Play, M/M, Monsterfucking, Sensory Deprivation, Temperature Play, Verbal Humiliation, Voyeurism, haha I dont actually care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29484735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfernumEquinomin/pseuds/InfernumEquinomin
Summary: Mike had been in the Shadows for at least a year. It was… not quite like being dead in that he still did shows. He still ate food. He could still occasionally see his friends, his boyfriends. He lived a life, the Shadows just never let him forget that he was with it, a part of it.The Shadows watch Mike, it is always watching. Always taking care of him, cheering for him, singing with him.The Shadows love him.
Relationships: Mike Townsend/The Shadows
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Mike Townsend (Hears the Shadows' (booty) Call)

Mike had been in the Shadows for at least a year. It was… not quite like being dead in that he still did shows. He still ate food. He could still occasionally see his friends, his boyfriends. He lived a life, the Shadows just never let him forget that he was with it, a part of it. He had half a pulse, the Shadows had the other half. He didn't hate it. There were a lot of good things about it. The Shadows appreciated him, his music, his pitching, and Mike had seen the appreciative way that the Bassist looked him over. How the Drummer stared at him after games. They didn't really have  _ names _ , what would be the point? Talking to them was like talking to someone with multiple heads, or sort of like talking to the Helgas when he visited San Fran. They all  _ were _ the Shadows, one entity, multiple bodies. With blaseball you could get used to anything he supposed.

Mike slumped into a chair in the greenroom, exhausted. Four shows in one week would have killed him when he was with the Garages, it should be killing him now, but instead he just had a solid bone weariness that settled in him like lead. The Guitarist wandered in, grabbing a water bottle and setting it near Mike, standing nearby but not really addressing him or acknowledging him. He appreciated that about it, the Shadows might not be human but it respected that he was. Well, most of the time.

"Mike Townsend." The Bassist said from the doorway, and Mike looked up, his vision unfocused a moment before he realized he hadn't actually said anything.

"Yeah?" He grunted and rubbed at one eye. The Bassist looked a bit concerned a moment then brushed it off.

"There are fans here to meet you." It said, and Mike frowned.

"Who?" He asked and slowly pushed himself to his feet, his knee wobbling a bit and aching.

"Fans." It responded, not seeming to understand his question, and the door opened farther to reveal three shapes, made of the same voidstuff as the rest of the shadow band. Mike stiffened and stood stock still as the fans approached.

"Wow, Mike Townsend, amazing." One said, the same sort of toned down, almost deadpan, delivery as the Shadows and Mike huffed a small sigh.

"Truly. I cannot believe I am meeting him now, in the flesh." Another commented and Mike flinched back a second when the third touched his elbow, the feeling like plunging into ice water crawling up his arm.

"Hey." He protested weakly but the third looked apologetic.

"Sorry Mike Townsend, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. I am simply your biggest fan." It said and Mike felt his stomach flip.

"Okay, get out. Stop." He said and the Bassist swept the three fans out the door, them whispering along the ground more than walking, and Mike covered his face, rubbing at his eyes, stinging and tired.

"What's wrong?" The Guitarist asked, not touching him thank god, but Mike still moved a little farther away.

"This is creepy. Get them out." He said firmly and the Guitarist glided over to him.

"They are gone. What is wrong Mike Townsend, you do not like interacting with your fans?" The Guitarist asked and Mike shook his head, groaning softly.

"It's not real, nobody is my biggest fan." Mike chuckled bitterly and the Guitarist hummed softly, like static in a crystal radio.

"I am." It said. Mike looked over at it. The Shadows didn't usually make jokes.

"Shut up." He snorted, and the Guitarist looked almost a little offended, arms crossing. 

"It is true. I like you a lot Mike Townsend." It declared and Mike shook his head.

"C'mon, you're like, an anthropomorphic personification. You don't like anything." He said and the two bandmates exchanged a look. Mike wasn't sure why, they were the same entity, it seemed superfluous.

"I like  _ you _ ." It declared insistently, and suddenly Mike was sandwiched between the Bassist and the Guitarist.

"Do you prefer if we say we don't. That you're a disappointment? That the best thing you did was leave so that Jaylen could come back? We can feel how you feel, what you want, what you need." The Bassist rumbled against his back and Mike felt heat pooling in his gut, face going red as he stammered.

"Or how about that you are worthless, only good for one thing? To serve." The Guitarist asked and Mike groaned softly at its hand closing on his throat, gentle, staticky and sparking against his skin.

"Shit, hold on…" Mike panted and the hand dropped away. The Guitarist leaned in and looked at him seriously.

"You are worthy of praise Mike Townsend, and yet all you long for is someone to degrade you. To use you." It said and Mike swallowed hard. He nodded.

"It's easier to believe." He said, heat filling his face, his neck, ears burning.

"Hm. I cannot say what isn't true. I do like you, a good musician, a good pitcher. A good little slut." The Bassist rumbled and Mike took a deep breath.

"I haven't gotten nearly enough sleep for this." Mike hissed out between his teeth, and the Guitarist nodded.

"We have two days until our next show. Rest. We can converse another time." It declared and that was the end of it, the Bassist wandered off, the Guitarist stuck around, making sure Mike had everything he needed until they could get him to a bed, and Mike kept lifting a hand to his neck, the fuzzy static feeling still there.

\--

The next show was… Not what Mike expected. It was intimate, a small venue. A few people were there, not just the Shadows, but he recognized his fans watching from the back. The show ended after an encore. He couldn't remember the last time he heard people cheer for an encore song. Not if it was just him and a backing band on stage.

The Bassist had been watching him, keeping its eyes on him (or so Mike assumed from the orientation of it's head and the piercing feeling of being watched, it didn't really have a face.) And waiting. He didn't know if it was going to spring, or if it was waiting for him to come to it, but it was unsettling. Unsettling in a hot way, Mike would admit, because he kept thinking about the Bassist firm but with that same fuzzy static against his back, the Guitarist against his front, hand around his throat, telling him he was only good for being used. Even the Drummer had started observing him more. He felt like a specimen, an experiment they were watching.

The crowd cleared out, leaving just the band and the three fans, standing in the back and watching him.

"How do you feel Mike Townsend? Relaxed?" The Drummer asked from behind him, and Mike jumped a little.

"Ah, yeah. Not bad." He nodded and the Drummer nodded.

"Oh good. Have you considered what we spoke of?" The Keyboardist asked and Mike looked over to it. 

"Um, fuck, which um, which thing?" He asked, eyes moving between his bandmates. 

"You deserve to be praised Mike Townsend. You want to be admired. To be a hero. Let us." The Bassist said, gesturing over to the fans, and Mike shook his head.

"Too weird. It… it feels fake." He breathed and the Guitarist nodded.

"Then, the alternative? Have you considered being our good little slut?" It purred at him and Mike felt a shiver rise up his spine.

"I need to make a phone call."

\--

"Deccie Suze's phone, Tillman "Fuck You" Henderson speaking." Tillman answered the phone and Mike took a deep breath and leaned heavily against the wall of the bathroom he was hiding in.

"Put Dec on." Mike said seriously and Tillman huffed.

"Mike? Sheesh, nice to hear from you too." Tillman grumbled and Mike sighed.

"Babe I am in a time sensitive spot, put Dec on. Also hi." Mike said and Tillman sighed exaggeratedly.

"Dec, phone, it's our rude ass boyfriend." Tillman said and Declan took the phone.

"Mikey? You alright? Aren't you at a show tonight?" Declan asked, and Mike could hear the sound of Mario Kart happening in the background.

"Yeah, should I fuck a bunch of weird shadow constructs that might be all about me or is that too fucking weird?" Mike asked and Declan laughed, full throated and mirthful.

"Ah. I see why you didn't wanna run this by Till." He chuckled and Mike ground his teeth a bit.

"Seriously, yes or no?" He asked and he heard a muffled thump and clatter.

"What's up?" Tillman asked and Declan grumbled, obviously having wrenched his phone back.

"Mike doesn't know if he should fuck the band or not." Dec said and Mike groaned, burying his face in his hand.

"Oh fuck yeah! The Bassist is hot!" Tillman crowed and Mike groaned again, louder this time, in case Tillman hadn't heard.

"It literally has no distinguishing features Till, they all look basically the same aside from build and sometimes eyes…" Declan said, and Mike could hear it, he could  _ hear _ the nonchalant shrug coming from Tillman.

"Two words. Big boi." Tillman sand, and Mike slumped down the wall of the bathroom.

"Guys, seriously, help?" He begged and Declan obviously wrestled the phone farther from Tillman.

"Do you want to? It isn't like, coercing you?" He asked and Mike sighed.

"No, I do, it just feels weird." Mike answered and Declan hummed once.

"Okay. Go for it. It ain't any different than any other fucking splort weirdness." Declan said.

"Okay. Okay." Mike sighed with relief and sagged a bit. "You're cool with it?"

"I am. Till how bout you boo?" Declan said and Tillman cackled.

"Get that ghost cock Mikey!" Tillman called and Mike smirked a little.

"Aye, aye captain." He said and Tillman was laughing almost too loud to hear anything else.

"You good?" Declan asked and Mike nodded to himself.

"Yeah. Its just been a lot. This, and shows." Mike sighed and Declan hummed softly.

"When's your next break?" He asked and Mike dropped his phone from his ear to check his calendar.

"Uhh… Three weeks." He answered and Declan grunted softly, the sounds of someone falling off the map in Mario Kart following.

"You comin home?" Dec asked and Mike smiled. He knew what he meant but having Declan call the apartment they sometimes shared in Chicago home felt nice.

"Yeah. That's the plan." Mike said.

"Sick. I'll torrent something for movie night. Now go get absolutely gang banged by a creature." Declan said and Mike chuckled softly.

"Wish I could offer the same?" Mike grinned and Declan chuckled.

"Ain't gonna be a gang, but is gonna be a bang if I got anything to say about it." Declan declared and Mike heard the couch groan in the way it usually did when Tillman was standing on it like an  _ animal _ .

"Oh hell yeah you suck at Mario Kart anyway!" Tillman called and Declan snorted. 

"Miss ya Mike." Declan said and Mike closed his eyes. It had only been two weeks since he saw them but he did miss them.

"Yeah, miss you too. Talk later." Mike smiled and Declan hung up, Tillman letting out a strangled sort of noise as presumably Declan jumped on him. Mike laughed softly and snapped his phone closed, sliding it in his pocket. He took a moment, composing himself, and then walked back into the green room.

\--

Nothing happened right away, the Shadows took his answer and accepted it, but pushed him gently towards bed in a purely platonic way. Mike wasn't going to say he was disappointed, he needed the rest. It  _ was _ four am, but he was surprised. He had kinda thought that this was… more emergent a situation…

"Mike Townsend." The Bassist said gently the following morning from the kitchenette of the extended stay they were in. The Shadows didn't eat, but they always made sure Mike had snacks and regularly would cook. It was currently making bacon and eggs.

"Morning." Mike yawned and sat down at the little wall desk. The Guitarist moved from the couch and approached him.

"Mike Townsend, we have a show tonight, if you are amicable." It said and Mike sighed, rubbing at his eyes.

"Sure, where at?" He asked and the Guitarist set a flyer on the desk. It was a blur, barely legible, like most Shadows flyers were, but one thing was clearly legible at the bottom.

Private show.

"What is this?" Mike asked and the Guitarist made a hissing popping noise that he had to assume meant it was laughing.

"A private show to show off exactly how good of a slut you can be." It said and Mike shuddered.

"What's um… The line up?" He asked and another piece of paper materialized, a list of songs he wrote, the ones he was most proud of, and the simple statement on "encore" in quotes at the bottom. Mike nodded and jumped a bit when a static haze hand settled on his shoulder.

"You may refuse." The Guitarist said, tone gentle.

"Who is going to be there?" Mike breathed out softly.

"No one, and everyone." The Shadows said and Mike nodded. A few of their bigger venues had been like that, a huge crowd of Shadows cheering and watching as he performed. It had felt both humiliating and exhilarating, playing to a stadium of mostly shadowy forms.

"Let's do it."

\--

The venue was a warehouse, bigger than Mike had expected. He shot back two drinks before the show and then drank water the rest of the night, the crowd rowdy and loud, cheering and booing in equal measure. Mike played out his last song, adjusting the neck of the mesh shirt the Shadows had picked out for him. Then, a familiar riff started ringing out and Mike felt his whole face flush bright red.

"The waterboy looks down at him, as he picks up the ball, it's another awful day, another awful day, for Mike Townsend, our prodigal son, our shameful pitcher, Mike Townsend." The first verse belts out from the gravelly voice of the Guitarist and Mike just stands there, watching as the crowd sings along, seeing the looks that the Bassist throws at him as it thrums on its guitar. He didn't have anything to do but stand there, shamefaced and embarrassed as he is humiliated in front of the whole room.

Usually, with the Garages, he played guitar for this one, it was a power move, turning something that poked fun at his insecurities into a ballad that he could belt out with the rest. But now all he could do was stand there, exposed and frozen in the spotlight as the band crooned out the first "fuck you" song he ever wrote like it was an insult. 

Mike's knees shook, he hadn't felt like he had stage fright before since high school. Sweat from the lights beaded on his head and he was a second from running when a static hand settled on his lower back.

"Mike Townsend is a disappointment, he's a loser and a total disgrace." The Guitarist sang in its rough voice, leaning the mic towards him and Mike grinned.

"Mike Townsend is a disappointment, Mike Townsend better end up in flames, yeah." He belted and the crowd lost it, screaming and cheering as the guitarist riffed out the guitar solo he usually played, heavier on it than he usually was, hands flicking over the strings in a way that felt intensely sexual. Mike nodded and took the mic, belting the rest of the song, feeding off of the crowd's energy, the band moving around him, their hands occasionally brushing against him, and he smiled, fully, feeling light in his heart for a moment before the song ended and the lights all dropped, the room pitch dark, the amps humming, and Mike suddenly felt alone.

"Hello?" He called into the dark and his voice feedbacked through the amp a bit until he moved away and then bumped into a shape.

"Mike Townsend." The gravelly deep voice of the Bassist said, and Mike relaxed.

"What happened?" Mike asked, voice lowered, feeling odd about speaking loudly in the dark.

"It's time for our encore." The Guitarist's voice said from behind him.

"Oh uh, yeah?" Mike stammered, nervous, and a hand settled on his cheek.

"Do you wish to proceed?" The Drummer asked, at his left.

"I… Yeah. Fuck it." Mike nodded and took a deep breath. "You're… I can back out, any time?"

"Any time." The Keyboardist repeated, an affirmation, and Mike nodded again, once and sharp, and then there were hands everywhere, static fuzzing at his nerves, pulling at his clothes, moving his arms around and up to pull the shirt off him and Mike shuddered at the feeling of cold air on his skin a moment before he was pushed backwards, two arms under his own keeping him upright and restrained and more along his front, moving over his skin. The Shadows weren't cold, or hot, just… room temperature, pressure and touch the only thing that indicated they were there, the press of that fuzz against his skin making his hair stand on end, goosebumps rising over him.

Mike felt a hand in his hair and it pulled, exposing his throat and he felt something cool and went slink up his neck, something sharp following and he shuddered, panting into the room and the Shadows bit him. The teeth were sharper than a human's but it didn't bite enough to break the skin, just enough to feel it, to know how sharp they were as dozens of hands drug over his skin, and dropped his jeans around his knees.

"Worthless, only good for one thing." The Bassist said, breath ghosting over his face, and Mike panted, huffing out big heavy breaths.

"It certainly isn't Blaseball." The Drummer added, behind him somewhere in the dark.

"And all he does is write songs about how awful he is at it." The Guitarist said.

"We should show him how good he can be." And Mike didn't recognize that voice, soft and feminine a few feet away.

"How useful." The Keyboardist added.

"How much we need him." This voice thrummed through the room, like a chorus, and Mike's knees gave out, his weight easily managed by the hands on him, supporting him like he was crowd surfing.

"We can feel what you want Mike Townsend. What you need. Tell us we can." The Bassist said, that cool tongue running up Mike's chest, drawing shuddering gasps from him.

"Please…" Mike breathed out and a hand gripped his chin, wrapped up around his from behind.

"Please what?" The Bassist asked and Mike groaned, his cock throbbing and bobbing in front of him as a hand pulled down his boxers.

"Please, give me what I need." Mike said and then it was like a crowd pressing in, hands everywhere on him, holding him up, bodies sliding against him, and he felt momentarily claustrophobic before he was nearly blinded by the spotlight coming on.

Mike was in the center of the stage, the band holding him half up, almost kneeling. The crowd was still there, watching, waiting, all eyes on him, and Mike felt his pulse skyrocket as a hand ran down his chest in front of all of them, leading in to take his cock in hand. Mike moaned, loud, into the room, and the Guitarist chuckled near his shoulder.

"So whorish, such a good little slut." It said, and Mike whined softly as they lowered him to his knees. A hand pressed against his lips and Mike opened his mouth, three cool staticky fingers pressing in, pressing against his lips, his tongue, and he sucked, feeling the fingers give under his mouth a little.

Hands moved over his skin, pushing him into position, hands and knees on the stage, and Mike opened his eyes to see thousands of eyes watching him and he whimpered softly as they took him in, every single one looking with lust and longing at him, some of them touching and moving against each other. Mike arched his back and a hand settled on his ass, moving over the skin there, and then he yelped around the fingers in his mouth as a hand struck down on him. Mike let his eyes fall closed again and let out a muffled moan as the hand pet the skin once then struck again, and again, increasing in speed and ferocity until Mike was trembling, barely able to hold himself up. The fingers plucked from his mouth and suddenly there was a cock in his mouth, thrusting without regard to him, moving rough and slamming into his throat with each stroke and Mike thanked whoever made him with a very weak gag reflex. The fingers returned at his ass and Mike moaned around the cock in his mouth, smooth and cool, as he was teased open.

"See, Mike Townsend  _ is  _ a credit to the team. Such a good team player." A voice said near the front row and Mike felt a flush crawl over his whole body. He felt hot, overheated compared to how cool all of his bandmates feltagainat him. The cock popped out of his mouth and he chased it a moment before a mouth replaced it, the Guitarist kissing him hard, roughly, desperate and grasping at his face. It pressed against his lips so hard he felt like it would split his lip but it pulled away eventually, licking up the side of Mike's face with a long, cool tongue, wiping away the few errant tears that had escaped during the rampant throat fucking.

"Don't want to ruin that pretty voice." The Guitarist said and Mike nodded once and then cried out as the Bassist pushed into him. He looked up and saw the band standing over him, the Keyboardist and the Drummer standing erect near him and the Guitarist smiled, its teeth sharp and white.

"Does Mike Townsend want a taste?" The Guitarist asked and Mike nodded.

"Doesn't have much self preservation, we were trying to be kind." The Drummer hissed a soft, crackling laugh.

"Please, use me." Mike begged and the Keyboardist nodded.

"Of course. Get busy." It said and shoved its cock in his mouth.

The two others grabbed a hand each and Mike moved over them, stroking thigh to belly, gently running his hands over their cocks and then groaned as the Bassist started fucking him finally, slow, starting gentle but if its hands on his hips were any indication not without the promise of a rougher time.

All along the crowd watched, reacting and moving like a wave in front of him, clamouring to see more of him. More of his performance. Some were actively fucking along, others content to watch and Mike felt like his mind was melting, fading away with the hum of the amps. The sizzle of the spotlight. He felt too hot and too tense, every muscle in his body tighter than a guitar string as hands ran over his chest, his face, his arms, too many, way more than the band had, so many hands playing him. Mike groaned around the cock in his mouth and a hand tightened in his hair, teeth grazing at his throat. 

The Bassist's teeth sunk into his skin and Mike cried out around the Keyboardist's cock, hands tangling and twisting in his hair as he fucked into Mike's throat, hands sliding down to cup his face as he moved and Mike's eyes fluttered closed, feeling the Bassist drive into him, fucking deep and slow, the Guitarist and the Drummer running hands over his shoulders, his neck, his lips around the Keyboardist's cock, rubbing encouraging circles on his back. 

"So good, what a good boy." The Keyboardist purred, his voice rumbling through Mike and down his throat, settling inside him deep in his stomach, spreading warmth through him as he worked and then he nearly gagged, gasping and coughing and pulling back a bit as a mouth wrapped cool and wet around his cock, surprising him because everybody was accounted for. Mike looked down and spotted, between his legs, one of his fans, smiling a wide, toothy smile, and then licking at the tip of his dick.

"Shit…" Mike breathed and the Fan leaned in, taking him in one swallow, tight and wet and cool, nose gently bumping against his pubes and nuzzling in as far as it could take him and Mike threw his head back, panting out into the harsh light of the spotlights on him. The crowd was nearly orgiastic now, all writing bodies and watching eyes, hands reaching out to him, cheering and moaning in equal measure and Mike gasped and groaned as he was filled, sucked, fucked every way he could possibly want, touched every way he could possibly want, and the Bassist's hand gripped hand to his hips, pulling him back into each thrust as Mike writhed against them, moved his hips as much as he could into its ministrations, fucking into the mouth of the Fan, leaning back into the Bassist's thrusts, pushing his mouth and face forward to take the Keyboardist back in his mouth as he worked both hands over the others. It was so much, too much, overwhelming, surrounding him, taking every bit of him, taking him apart and putting him back together better than he ever was before, alone.

Without the shadows.

Mike came, tensing and shuddering, gasping hard breaths through his nose as cold filled his mouth, coated his face, his chest, a shock but not an unpleasant one, shivering and releasing into the Fan's mouth. The Bassist kept moving and Mike slumped forward, the Keyboardist kneeling to hold him, keeping him upright as the Bassist moved in him.

"So so good Mike Townsend, just a little more." The Keyboardist cooed at him and Mike gasped and choked out a little sob, so sensitive every inch of him felt on fire, and he panted into the Keyboardist's shoulder, hands clawing into the dense shadowstuff of his bandmate. Then he was being filled with nearly freezing cum, coating his insides and making him shudder and gasp and whimper, the Keyboardist's arms around him, holding him so tightly, more hands stroking him, novung over his skin, every single nerve in his body firing at 120%, each touch lighting up his body, muscles spasming, hands gripping hard to anything he could reach, neck bared and eyes gripped closed. Mike opened them, took in the press of the crowd around him, every eye in him, and heard them.

"So good Mike. You're so good. We love you." The chorus said and Mike whimpered as hands petted over his face, smearing him with cum, his hair, his back, one hand tracing the bite mark on his neck with a staticky finger until Mike was a shuddering sobbing mess in their multitudinous hands.

Then the darkness was back, but rather than feel alone, Mike knew he was surrounded, encompassed. He would never be alone in the dark again. The Shadows enveloped him, held him, kept him safe and warm and  _ theirs _ , and Mike relaxed.

End.   
  
  
  
  



End file.
